


Spare Moments

by fractualized



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bowling alley, M/M, Possessive Sex, Quickies, Spit As Lube, Unprotected Sex, uhhhhh almost biting?, with a guest appearance by Magpie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractualized/pseuds/fractualized
Summary: On an Arkham daytrip, John goads Bruce into breaking the rules in the temporary privacy of the restroom.
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 17
Kudos: 146





	Spare Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystrothedefender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrothedefender/gifts).



> This scenario comes from Discordland, mostly thanks to Mystrothedefender but my half-awake ass helped a little. We decided to have dueling stories, so be sure to [check his out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716441) too!

It's surreal to watch John carry a bowling ball up a lane, swing it back, and release it, having some afternoon fun like a typical Gotham citizen. It helps that he's wearing normal clothes per Arkham's policy for off-site outings. Admin doesn't want patients to feel conspicuous, although bleached skin and bright hair makes that moot. Still, John was excited to change out of gray scrubs into the slim-fit purple pants and scoop-neck orange shirt that Bruce brought him.

Pins dance on the screen hanging from the ceiling as John cheers and trots back to the seating area. For the umpteenth time, he plops down in Bruce's lap, laughing over the blaring pop music filling the bowling alley. Bruce feels his chest flutter at that smile, then feels the burning gaze of the lead orderly watching from the concourse above them.

Bruce lightly pushes John into the spot beside him on the cushioned bench. "Limited touching, remember?"

John pouts, pointedly angling his back to their supervisor. "But I got a spare! Can't I celebrate with you?"

"Of course," Bruce says, raising his hand.

John's grin springs back into place, and he slaps his palm to Bruce's. "Yeah!"

"It's so dumb," says Maggie Pye, recovering kleptomaniac. 

Each pair of lanes is assigned to four couples, who are monitored by an orderly. Each couple consists of a model Arkham patient and their guest. Maggie is accompanied by her boyfriend, and they sit opposite Bruce on the other end of the C-shaped bench. The other two Arkham patients are taking their turns on the lanes, so their guests fiddle on their phones.

Tucking a lock of white-blond hair behind her ear, Maggie goes on, loud enough to be heard over what's apparently a whole Lady Gaga playlist. "Admin trusts us enough to go on a day trip but not to make out with anyone. What do they think we're gonna do? Poison our loved ones?"

John snorts. "Only if you're Arsenic Andy!"

Maggie's eyes widen before she and John burst into laughter. Bruce glances at her boyfriend, but he looks just as clueless as Bruce. The two on their phones are probably better off not paying attention.

Suddenly the lights for their lanes dim, and both overhead screens display a cartoon of a smiling, jumpsuited man carrying a wrench alongside the message: "Technicians are on the way!"

Bruce expects a frustrated groan, but instead John turns and waves at the orderly.

"Whelp, seems like time for a bathroom break!" he calls. "How's about it, warden?"

The stern man nods, his warning look more focused on Bruce than John. Bruce offers a bland smile in return as he follows John up the steps to the concourse. They pass a couple more orderlies on the way to the restrooms, which are at the end of the building furthest from the entrance, thankfully. Bruce suspects their prickly chaperone might have insisted on accompanying them otherwise.

The empty men's room gives no reprieve from the constant music; a speaker mounted up in the corner bounces the sound off the bare walls and linoleum floor, amplifying it. Bruce is on autopilot: using a urinal, washing his hands, and grabbing a paper towel from one of the few nonautomated dispensers left in the world. It's when he turns to the door that he stops. John is turning the deadbolt.

His green eyes glisten with innocence. "Some, uh, paps might come in for rude pictures," he explains loudly over the music.

Bruce crumples the paper towel and tosses it into a trash can on the verge of overflowing. "Is that why you haven't zipped up?"

John glances down at his open pants and breaks into an unabashed smile. He saunters over. "Come on, Bruce. For once we're away from prying eyes. You can't say you don't want to take advantage, finally get down to business?" He lays his hands on Bruce's shoulders and leans in for a kiss.

Bruce allows that much, but when John's hips rock forward, he holds them still. "You know we can't." 

"Who's gonna know? Arkham's goon can't prove why the door's locked."

"There's no good excuse for him to find it locked. Besides, our first time together shouldn't be in a bowling alley bathroom."

It should be in the master bedroom at the manor, John writhing on silk sheets while Bruce takes all the time he needs to map that lithe body. The experience should be softness and warmth and just the two of them, not hard surfaces of questionable cleanliness with an orderly bound to come searching any minute.

"It's still gonna be _years_ until we can have whatever candlelit evening you're planning," John pleads, "and it'll still be romantic and mindblowing no matter how many times we get off before that."

"You're planning a lot of risks, huh?" Bruce shakes his head. "You've worked so hard to get this privilege, and on the first outing you want to lose it? Get rolled back to supervised visits?"

In lieu of dry humping, John leans in to rub his cheek against Bruce's. This close, he can talk more softly. "Buddy, I _need_ it. I think about it when you're around, and even more when you're not. Touching myself isn't enough. It's not…"

Bruce's breath hitches. John's hand has wormed between them to palm the front of Bruce's jeans.

"Don't you feel that way?" John asks, leaning back a bit to look Bruce in the eyes.

Of course Bruce does. Just last night, like many before, he jerked off to a photo of John on his phone. The picture is nothing titillating, just John smiling in the brightness of the asylum garden, but the V-neck of his shirt shows the length of his unblemished white throat. Bruce imagined sinking his teeth into it while John moaned.

The shirt John is wearing now makes his neck look longer.

He chuckles, rubbing Bruce's groin harder. "Yeah, you feel that way," he purrs.

They're not going to do anything, Bruce tells himself, even as he makes no move to stop John, even as his thumbs stroke John's hips. "Of course I want you, but I don't want to give them reason to add to your time."

John dots kisses on Bruce's face. "That's only if we get caught," he sing-songs.

"We might."

"Patients on day trips sneak around all the time. Hell, patients in Arkham sneak around all the time. Mags gave me tips, not that you should need any, Batsy."

"John…"

"After giving Arkham all that money, are you really gonna let them tell you when you can touch me?"

John's smirk opens up when he presses his mouth to Bruce's, asking for his tongue, and Bruce gives it to him, kissing him deep. Bruce can't help but rut against John's hand now. It's been so long since he's been with someone, and so tiring to limit himself during Arkham visits: hug and kiss hello, hug and kiss goodbye, fully visible hand holding in between.

He shouldn't want special rules, but he absolutely does. He should be offended by the suggestion that money buys intimacy with John like he's a plaything, but Bruce wants the reward he's been waiting for.

In a split second, John's hand squeezes past Bruce's waistband, into his briefs. Bruce's hips jerk at the sensation of slender fingers wrapping around his cock, and he groans.

"I guess you're right, though," John says. "We could get in trouble."

Bruce grabs John by the arms, pulling that wicked hand out of his pants, then backs him up against the counter. He lets go to wrap an arm around John's waist and press two fingers to John's lips.

"Come on," Bruce says roughly.

Eyes alight, John takes the digits into his mouth and lavishes them with his tongue. He sucks for a moment, his lips sealing around Bruce's second knuckles, and Bruce has a flash of another fantasy, of those lips painted red and wrapped around the heft of his dick. He slides his free hand down the back of John's unbuttoned pants and grabs his ass as they grind against each other. When the spit feels like it's about to trickle down John's chin, Bruce withdraws his fingers, pulling out a wet string.

John breaks it with a swipe at his mouth and looks pleased with himself. "Sure you don't want to back out?" he taunts. "You are such a stickler for rules."

"Quiet," Bruce orders as he tugs John's pants down to his thighs.

John's penis eagerly bobs free, but Bruce neglects it and reaches around to push his slick fingers between John's cheeks. With a high noise, John grabs Bruce's shirt. Bruce weaves the fingers of his free hand into John's hair and urges his forehead onto his shoulder.

"We have to be quick," Bruce murmurs into John's ear as he works him open. "Try to relax."

John turns his head and breathes hot against Bruce's collarbone. "Yeah," he pants. "I… I can do that."

That seems doubtful, given how excitable John usually is, but John can focus when he really wants something. Sure enough, a verse passes in the music, and the tension in his body melts, and he lifts his head for more kisses. Bruce's hand drifts from John's hair down the smooth skin of his neck. John shudders as his stiff length rubs between their stomachs.

Ideally, Bruce would give him more time, but they have no idea how many minutes they started with, to say nothing of how Bruce's need strains against the confines of his jeans. He removes his fingers and kisses John once more as he pulls out his erection. John barely gets a hungry look before Bruce spins him around, bending him over the counter a little too fast. John jerks to the side when he grabs the edge, his hand sliding on a wet spot. Bruce says a quick apology, but John just shifts over so he can brace where it's dry and looks expectantly over his shoulder.

Bruce positions behind him and holds out his hand below John's chin. "Spit."

John laughs, excited and nervous, before working up more saliva and spitting into Bruce's palm. Bruce adds his own, then quickly slicks himself up, muscles clenching at his own touch. John looks at his own reflection in the long mirror over the sinks, his face all eager anticipation.

Then his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open as the head of Bruce's cock presses into his ass.

"Okay?" Bruce manages to ask, as every part of him focuses on how tight and good John already feels. As soon as John nods, closing his eyes, Bruce grasps his hips and steadily pushes in for more.

He watches the way John's hole stretches to accommodate his shaft, and he's trembling by the time he bottoms out. He remembers again how long it's been since he's been engulfed in the heat of another person, how long he's craved to do this with John.

John is taking steady breaths, and Bruce bends over him, sliding one hand under his shirt to lay flat against his stomach. His other hand covers John's on the counter, and he kisses the nape of John's neck, breathing in his sharp scent, wanting to indulge in it, but _tick tick tick_.

He loosely holds John's dick and gently rolls his hips, pulling out just a little and seating himself again. He chokes back a groan at the perfect friction in just that small movement, stifles the base instinct to seek that sensation with his whole throbbing cock, and thanks God that it takes just a few beats for John to start pushing back to meet him. John's whines are just loud enough to hear, and Bruce pulls out further, thrusts in harder.

"There you go," Bruce says so breathlessly that the music must swallow it. "There you go."

Regrets about the circumstances quickly fall away. Bruce finds himself grateful instead, giving into the desperate need just to fuck, to take what's his. He latches both hands onto John's hips, pulls himself upright, and plunges in and out of that strangling heat. He holds John still, making him take it. The bass from the speaker thrums in the floor, the walls, the air, but Bruce's pace is off-beat, faster.

John's body jerks with every smack of Bruce's pelvis. His mouth hangs open but there's a hint of a smile as he stares at his reflection with glazed eyes. Despite the waistband restricting his thighs, his legs spread a little wider.

"That's it," Bruce moans. He reaches for John's dick again.

John bites his lip when Bruce smears the pre-cum leaking from his tip down his shaft. It's a little too rough, but Bruce pumps a few times before pulling his hand back for more spit. He smears it over John's length, and wetter strokes drag his name from John's throat.

Bruce snaps his hips and wishes he had a batarang on hand to short out the speaker. He wants to hear the cracks in John's voice, to ask how much John loves this, even though the bliss is clear on his face and in the way he clenches around Bruce's cock. Bruce wants to hear everything, and in this feverish moment thinks he wouldn't give a damn if everyone else did, if that powertripping weasel of an orderly walked in on John begging for more. That's what matters, that John gets just what he wants, Bruce hard and hot and deep.

Bruce's rhythm starts to stutter, and he digs his fingers into John's hip bones. He tips his head back when he comes, letting out a shout.

His thrusts slow, and when he looks back down, John's arm is bent underneath himself, hand jerking at his own need. Bruce wraps an arm around John's body and pulls him up so they're chest-to-back, then pries John's hand away and replaces it with his own tight grip.

"You're so good," he rumbles into John's ear. "I've got you, buddy."

He pumps fast and rolls his hips. John hooks his hands on the forearm across his chest, letting his head fall back with his mouth open in a silent cry.

"So good," Bruce says. "Come on."

John's ivory throat is right there, and Bruce drags his tongue over the pulse point, wanting so badly to bite down. He sets his teeth against the flesh instead, and John finally lets out a strangled noise, spasming around Bruce's sensitive cock. Bruce moans and watches John's pale dick spurt onto the counter, until his fist can't coax any more from him.

They stay in their embrace for a few breaths, as the heavy beat coming from the speaker fades away. An acoustic song begins– and a pounding rattles the door, followed by a muffled angry voice.

John sags against Bruce and chuckles, "What timing."

Bruce pulls out with a quiet hiss and takes a moment to steady John before grabbing some paper towels. John is little help with the quick cleanup, since he keeps bursting into uncontrollable giggles. He only manages to pull his pants up while giving Bruce a look that's hard to interpret, either bashful that Bruce really had debauched him, or delighted like he'd somehow tricked Bruce into it.

Either way, Bruce feels sated and in control. After he straightens his clothing– the wet spots John' dick left on his shirt don't seem that noticeable– he checks John's is presentable. Then he holds John by the neck and inspects his throat; only faint pink imprints are left.

It all takes little more than a minute, but when Bruce opens the door, the lead orderly has his hand up to start pounding again. A manager waits behind him with a ring of keys at the ready.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" the orderly demands as Bruce and John walk out.

John is still giggling, and he's wobbly on his feet. Bruce puts on a show of aggravation before anyone can note the incriminating details, including the sheen of sweat on both their skin.

"I thought you were supposed to be watching for trouble!" he snaps.

The orderly's scowl falters. "Excuse me?"

"Some asshole with a camera tried to follow us in!" Bruce turns to the alley manager. "I was assured that your employees would look out for the tabloids!"

The manager frowns. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wayne. Can you give me a description?"

Bruce pushes down his guilt at her genuine concern. He huffs and pulls out his phone, checking the time and shaking his head. "No, I think we're about to head back anyway– though we'll have to look for someone tailing the damn bus."

The orderly ignores Bruce's pointed glare and checks his own phone. "Uh, yeah, times up. We'll keep an eye out in the parking lot."

"Aw," John says, having collected himself, "we didn't get to finish." He looks at Bruce and cocks his head with an obnoxious grin. "Did we?"

The heat of Bruce's glare only makes the grin expand.

Fortunately, the orderly doesn't seem to have a head for wordplay and just wants to get going. His shift probably ends when they get back. "I'm sure you're all winners," he says, waving them toward the shoe counter.

By the time the Arkham group piles back onto the minibus, Bruce's adrenaline has drained away. He takes a window seat and stares at the road as he second-guesses himself like he always does when he has a lapse in control. When did John say his next medical evaluation is? Will the bruises on his hips fade by then? Of course, if they don't, John will probably concoct a convincing story about making the marks himself. And yes, the sex felt amazing, but did Bruce just enable John's impulses in the worst way, channeling so much aggression? Christ, what about his own impulses?

And again there's the feeling that John deserved better. He deserved clean and safe and, hell, proper lube. He barely had sentimental words to look back on. It was just rough and dirty, two bodies taking from each other.

Bruce feels a tap on his thigh. When he turns, John leans over and plants a kiss on his mouth, then settles back in his seat with his bright eyes locked on Bruce's face.

"I had the best time!" he chirps.

Bruce's heart swells, pushing the doubts aside, at least for now. "I love you," he says quietly.

John sinks into his shoulders a little, smile now shy. "Love you too, buddy."

The lead orderly has started walking down the aisle with a checklist to take count. He's already passed Maggie, sitting up front, so she drapes herself over the back of her seat to talk to him.

"Hey, when can we get drink tickets for these things?" she asks.

The orderly doesn't look back as he dryly replies, "When you're not a ward of the state."

"I demand the right to practice my autonomy by getting wasted!" she declares, fist above her head. Then she drops her arm and says, "Can we at least vote on something better than bowling?"

"Oh, I dunno," John chimes in. "I'd say it was certainly _up my alley_ , eh, Bruce?"

John cracks up, and the oblivious orderly rolls his eyes as he walks by. Maggie is still hanging over her seat, and she blinks owlishly at Bruce before her mouth curls into a knowing smirk. Cheeks burning, Bruce wants to softly scold John about discretion, but the cackling man is still caught up in his quip, slapping his knee and throwing his head back.

And as Bruce's eyes fall on the nearly faded marks on John's bared throat, he finds himself wondering what tips Maggie has about Arkham.  
  
  



End file.
